Pieces
by SharpPen
Summary: Pieces on how a casual arrangement became anything but.


**Disclaimer: All Harry Potter characters herein are the property of J.K. Rowling and Bloomsbury/Scholastic. No copyright infringement is intended. **

Pieces

"You busy tomorrow?" He asked with his back turned to her while he buttoned up his sleek, black dress pants.

"I think so." She sat on the bed, staring into the air, not bothering with finding an excuse. He would not ask what she was doing.

"I see. Some other day, then." He was tucking his shirt inside his pants and fixing his collar.

He didn't acknowledge her as he picked up his robes and made his way out of the small but cosy hotel room.

...

"You're avoiding me, Granger." She jumped as she felt him behind her, all hard body and expensive cologne that invaded her senses and forced her to relive dark, warm hotel rooms filled with moans and nerve endings on fire.

She blinked.

"I – No I'm not." She was disappointed in herself, she could stand before the entire frowning, old and intimidating Wizengamot and speak her and the house elf's cause without blinking, but with him in her vicinity, her whole vocabulary seemed to tumble out of her head.

"Yes, you are. You can not lie to me Granger, even with your back turned." He articulated the words in a way that made her brain go fuzzy; no one she knew except for him spoke like that, like he had been beaten for slurring his words. He probably had.

"You... Have to go, people- "

"Are having their afternoon tea, like normal people do. You need to eat more Granger, I don't do sticks." She blushed for some reason, and then turned to him while trying to push him a little away from her.

"I have work." She said, drawing a deep breath and searching for a speck of cologne-less oxygen.

"You work too much." He concluded, leaning against her desk while looking like a Ralph Lauren commercial.

"I _need_ to work." She prodded gently, hoping he would take the hint.

"You need money Granger?" Wrong hint, "I can… ah, aid you a bit, if necessary."

"I'm not your whore!" She suddenly flared up, too little sleep and too much stress starting to catch up with her.

Grey, cold eyes made their way to her, a steely, mocking expression printed in them.  
"Aren't you?"

He left the room before the paperweight hit his head.

...

"Please… Harder." She breathed, moving against him frantically, begging for the sweet friction.

He made a growling sound, gripping her sides, almost falling awkwardly over her without any of them noticing.

She arched of the bed as her blood was filled with ice and fire at the same time, her toes curling and her teeth clenching together.

When he filled her she barely noticed it, neither the soft growling of her name.

...

"We need to stop." She was sitting on the bed again, the same as the last time and the time before that, he said he liked this room.

He didn't look up from the buttons he was fastening. "Is there a reason?"

She was slightly surprised, she had expected him to simply brush it off and go find another girl.

"I've been thinking about starting to date again, people are commenting."

"When did you care about what people said, and have I ever stopped you from dating?" She wished he would look at her.

"It wouldn't feel right."

"And I guess you want me to believe that this has nothing to do with the fact that Brown finally came to her senses and dumped Weasley?" His tone hadn't changed from that flat, slightly bored drawl, and yet it mocked her.

"Yes, because it's the truth."

"Of course it is."

"I don't have the energy, just go!" She cried, not knowing why she suddenly wanted to cry and laugh at the same time, she had been working too much.

When she looked up from the cradle she had made from her hands, he was gone.

"You lied Granger." She almost hit him with the white bar of soap she held in her hands.

"What the hell are you doing here, this is a ladies bathroom!" She hurriedly checked that they were alone.

"Enjoying your date?" He asked, inspecting his nails as if he had all the reasons in the world to be there while completely disregarding her exclamation.

"It's not a date; we are having a friendly dinner!" She hissed, washing the soap off her hands.

"Of course you are, in a dimly lit Italian restaurant with a violinist and red roses." He said in a tone that ought to dry her soaked hands. She refrained from telling him that she hadn't known what kind of restaurant Ron had picked out for them and had been very surprised and slightly nervous when she took notion of the romantic atmosphere.

"Are you stalking me?" She asked, as a light that rarely lit around him announced it existence in her head.

"Of course not, I was walking past and happened to see you through the window."

"You never walk anywhere." She said honestly.

A Cheshire cat grin spread over his lips. "And you call me the stalker."

She went red.

"Just leave me alone, we're over."

He watched her with an amused look as she left the bathroom.

...

She had no idea why she was standing there.

The fancy magical restaurant in the middle of Diagon Alley was notorious for several things, like an impeccable collection if elf wines and the most exquisite desserts. There was also one other thing that everyone in the wizarding world who read witch weekly knew about the posh establishment; every day except Sunday, _he _would have his lunch there.

And now she, quite foolishly, was standing outside it, not knowing exactly what to do with herself.

She could walk away, she reasoned. She _should _walk away; it was definitively the best thing to do.

To walk away was the smart thing to do, and therefore the Hermione Granger way of doing things, he had said that to her once, she had choked on a mouthful of nothing but air and then stared as she tried to wrap her brains around the fact that he had almost complimented her.

_Almost. _

It was always almost with him. She was almost happy when she saw him, yet something in her went icy cold at the same time, and her legs wanted to run away. She almost thought him handsome, but when he looked at her and made her feel like the ground he walked on, she wanted nothing more than to erase his existence from this world. She almost liked his humour, but then he would use it to hurt her, or her friends or the creatures she devoted her life to, and she wanted to scream at him.

But to imagine her life without him, even if they were never to speak to each other ever again, felt a bit strange.

It was perhaps just that she was used to him popping up at inopportune times, commenting on her life in an annoying manner.

But no, there was something more, not just habit. She was used to him to such an extent that she couldn't imagine her not expecting him to be there ever. She wanted him to be there, she realised childishly, just in the curtains of the stage of her life.

But she couldn't walk inside.

...

"Stalker" It was an accusation.

"You are the one that jumps on me at all times." She said, breathing in the fresh air of her parent's seaside vacation home.

"Ah, but Granger, that does not make me a stalker. A stalker is someone that lurks in the shadows and spy on others, I am completely honest and upfront with you, I am standing here, aren't I?" He was smiling, of all things.

"And why am I a stalker then?" An ice cold claw of humiliation and despair was taking a good hold of her insides.

"Because, Granger, stalkers stand outside restaurants, watching their innocent victim trying to eat their veil fricassee." She felt the burning hot sensation of a blush making its way over her face and neck.

"And following people on their much deserved vacations is not stalking?" She said defensively.

"I thought your boss kicked you out and told you to not come back before you slept off the caffeine overdose?" He was still smiling, looking out over the southern England coast.

She didn't bother with asking him how he knew that, she was far too used with him being omniscient.

"That may be."

"How are things with Weasley?" He sounded quite indifferent. She took a moment to admire how he always seemed to have the right to be wherever in the world he wished to be without having to answer to why he was there.

"Ron is fine, if that's what you mean. He's looking for an apartment in London; Molly tries to keep him home however. She is struggling with empty nest syndrome." She had no idea why she told him all of this.

"Not moving in with you yet, then?"

"Ron and I are just friends." She decided against telling him that Ron had suggested he move in with her several times in the form of complimenting the size and good location of her flat. He also had a habit of joking about her amount of books, and saying that she could fit another person there if she just threw some of them out.

"I didn't suggest anything else." He sounded as if he tried to strangle a mocking smirk. "It's a nice cottage." He was obviously referring to the Granger family's vacation home behind them, even though Hermione would have said that cottage was a rather humble name for the two story villa with a Jacuzzi.

"Thanks." She muttered.

"Did you plan on spending your entire holiday alone?" He asked, somehow managing to sound as if he was not implying anything.

"Yes, I think it would be good for me."

"I agree"

And then he stayed with her and watched the sun set.

...

"Congratulations on the engagement, Granger." Malfoy was smirking from ear to ear in a way that made her want to smack him.

"I can't believe you listen to that rubbish." She scolded, referring to the article in witch weakly the day before about how Ron Weasley had been seen in a jewellery store in France, buying an engagement ring, there had also been heavily implied that the ring was for one Hermione Granger.

"I don't", he said, "The owner of the store happens to be a friend of the family."

_Of course he was._

"I see." She answered, turning towards him, "what I don't see, however, is how this is any of your business."

"Well, you _see_ Granger", he said with a with a teasing smirk, " Weasley bought a tiny ring for you, and I saw it as my responsibility to warn you to not just jump on the first bloke who offers you a rock. If you bothered with your looks for once we might even be talking about carats."

How he managed to insult and compliment her at the same time was truly astounding.

"Right, thanks for the tip, Malfoy. However, contrary to most other women of your acquaintance, I'm not on a never ending search for a larger rock." She finished with a pointed stare in his direction.

"No, I can imagine it being hard to find anything bigger, what with being with me and all."

"What? You've never given me jewe- oh... oh!" She blushed furiously at his leer before she narrowed her eyes at him. "Piss off."

He laughed as he walked down the small side street of Diagon Ally where he accidentally ran into her as she was on her way out of the chemists.

...

"I can't believe Weasley managed to get you more down than I have ever been able to." He sounded disappointed in himself.

She was sitting on the steps of the closed restaurant where Ron a few hours earlier had asked her- for reasons completely beyond her- to marry him.

He must have been on some sort of illegal substance if he had ever thought she would say yes.

They hadn't even been dating, save for a few awkward kisses he had bestowed upon her at the strangest times.

And they hadn't had any kind of deeper physical relationship, and though most women (or moms, at least) said, 'he won't buy the cow if the milk's for free', Hermione said, 'don't buy the cow before you have given it a test run'. Crude perhaps, but true.

"Oh come on, Granger. At least cry or something so I know that I can still hurt you."

He was so very charming.

And then, for some reason, she did exactly what he told her to do, she burst into tears in the middle of the street.

"Fuck, Granger, I didn't mean it!" He sounded slightly scared, and it was funny, so she laughed.

She could feel his stare on her, and could imagine the bewildered, and possibly humoured, expression on his face.

"Right, you've gone around the bend then, bound to happen some time." He muttered before she felt strong arms yank her up and steer her down the street.

"And shut up, will you?"

"Well aren't you just full of contradictions today?" She muttered, trying to liberate herself from his arms.

Still holding onto her firmly he spoke again, "I don't really understand why you are reacting this way, I mean; the rock couldn't be that small."

She let out something between a sob and a laugh, giving up the thought of freedom from his freakishly strong hold.

"And even though this does not apply to me, as it is a memory I will cherish until the day Potter finally offs me, the general population will surely forget about you turning over the table and throwing food at Weasels head like the roaring swamp creature we all knew you were, eventually. Even if the daily prophet managed to snap pictures of it and it certainly will be in tomorrows' issue."

She wanted to crumple up and die at the memory.

"Why do you think Harry will kill you?" She asked, trying to talk about something else than her atrocious behaviour.

He smiled at some joke Hermione didn't get and said; "I believe that I'll find a way."

...

This really was not what she had in mind when she told him to meet her somewhere private.

Her flat was private indeed, but it was her private. And he was touching her stuff with a face that wasn't decided on approving or not.

And she wanted him to approve.

"You know" he began in a voice that promised everything but pleasantness, "they have these buildings containing a vast amount of books, libraries, they are called." He walked along her shelves that took up one of the living room walls, covered in books. "They are quite handy in the sense that they can make books on any topic available to anyone, and then people do not have to have every book in existence taking up their wall space." He finished the sentence with a pointed look in her direction.

"I like to own my books, thank you very much."

"Always so controlling Granger" He said bemusedly, taking a seat next to her in the sofa, making Hermione want to point out the fact that there was a perfectly fine chair just over there.

She didn't.

"Except in bed, if memory serves me right" he was looking as if he was enjoying himself, "you are actually quite submissive, come to think of it."

"What did you do?" She asked, her face stoic, or so she hoped.

"To make you submissive? I believe you came to be like that all on your own Granger." He was definitively amused.

"With the pictures, or the prophet, or both." She said, ignoring his improper comments.

An air of resignation settled over his features as he leaned back in the couch.

"And I who hoped this was about something a lot more pleasant."

She sent him a confused look which was answered with an impatient one who chastised her for being so naive, and she had to fight to control her blush.

"Yes, well, that was silly of you." She muttered, feeling her voice almost disappear from embarrassment, not because of what he spoke of, but because she was embarrassed he cold make her embarrassed about it at all.

"Honestly, I don't see why you think I had anything to do with it." The air of amusement hadn't left him.

"Because, you are the only one who has the means and the motive" she said determined to not back down or seem weak, as he always made her.

"And what exactly, do you mean, my motive is?" He asked; his voice and face unreadable. Of course he wouldn't argue about having the means, it was an obvious truth.

"That was what I was wondering." She stated, looking at him as if the answer was written across his face.

It wasn't.

He looked pensive for a moment, and then suddenly, as if the decision wasn't entirely conscious, he reached for her jaw while leaning in.

She felt stupid for not understanding what he was doing before his lips were closed over hers.

...

Hermione was woken by the sound of an angry voice.

She felt confused, not really able to make sense of the situation until she spotted a sock hanging from the lamp on her nightstand.

A large, black and distinctly male sock

_Oh my God_

The shouting was getting louder, and she felt like a claw of ice had taken hold of her insides as she realised the multitude of catastrophic situations the argument beyond her bedroom door could possibly be about.

She threw on a bathing robe and hasted out the door, into the living room where Draco was standing stoic with a faint smirk gracing his lips. He was also being shouted at by Ron who had developed an impressive colour.

This was horrible.

Poor Ron, they hadn't spoken since the incident at the restaurant, and now he came visiting her in the morning, finding a half naked – why on earth wasn't he wearing a shirt! – Draco Malfoy in her flat.

He would get it all wrong, or right, technically, but it was wrong.

"Morning Granger" Malfoy suddenly greeted her pleasantly, as if Ron wasn't there staring at them, looking and sounding as if he was about to choke.

She really couldn't think of anything to say, and settled on looking worriedly between the two males.

"What the fuck is going on here Hermione!" Ron suddenly sputtered.

"Honestly Weasley, I knew you had a somewhat restricted intellect, but I thought it would be clear to even your undersized brain what was going on." Draco had cut her short, even though she had opened her mouth without any kind of plan, and then he stepped closer to her.

She was stunned when he placed an arm around her waist, squeezing her affectionately.

Hermione became dimly aware of the fact that she still hadn't closed her mouth.

"Is it true, Hermione?" Ron sounded defeated suddenly, and she wanted him to be angry again, because that was so much better than the unbearable sadness that had overtaken his face.

"Ron I..." She couldn't think of anything. She didn't even have an answer to his question. Was what true? Yes she slept with Malfoy. But no, what Ron saw was not true; Malfoy bidding her good morning and his arm around her waist, it was all fake, probably just something Malfoy did to hurt Ron further.

It was working.

Ron gazed at the scene before him before he closed his eyes, looking pained. When he opened them they were, to Hermione's horror, bloodshot.

"I... I see" Ron muttered before he stuck his hand in his pocket, pulling out a hand full of floo powder and throwing it in the fire he probably arrived in.

With a last pained look at the couple and the sweeping sound of floo travel he was gone.

Regaining some sense, she pushed Malfoy away from her, disappearing into her bedroom with a slam.

She ignored the repeated knocks on her door for what felt like ages until there was silence.

...

She wished for two things as she sat on the barstool.

First of all, that muggles knew how to brew firewhiskey, that way she could get drunk safely away from the wizarding world without having to gag down the horrible muggle liquor.

And second, due to the absence of fulfilment of her first wish, she wished she could order proper drinks in mangy little pubs where she could be anonymous without drawing attention to herself. She couldn't, however. The bright colour of Sex on the Beach or some or other would draw the eyes of all the whiskey drinking occupants of the pub.

She was only psyching herself into taking a sip of her second glass of whiskey however, when someone sat down next to her, ordering what she was having.

Patience was not one of her virtues that night, she was far too depressed, and she would not stand for some silly little man trying to talk her into a one night stand tonight.

Besides, only one man could talk her into a one night stand.

Unfortunately, she realised as he addressed her; that was the exact man who had taken the seat next to her.

"Please leave me alone Malfoy" She said tiredly.

She wasn't surprised when he ignored her statement; Malfoy had very selective hearing sometimes.

"You have my shirt" he said easily, it didn't sound as if he really wanted it back; it was just a statement of fact.

"Do you have some sort of tracking device on me?" She asked, taking another sip of her whiskey, it was easier with him there. Like inspiration.

"What makes you think that?"

The fact that he didn't deny it at all didn't sit quite right with her.

"You are everywhere"

"It's just that you are very predictable sometimes." He smiled.

"I am not" she countered.

"Maybe I know you too well then" he shrugged.

She groaned, wanting to lean her face on the counter and disappear into it. It was a bit too dirty however, so she settled on watching nothingness with a forlorn face.

"Everyone I know is going to hate me."

"You know Granger; you shouldn't keep so many friendships with conditions. It must get tiring, always having to keep to everyone's lines all the time." He was so right and so wrong at the same time; it hurt her slightly intoxicated head a little.

Malfoy talked with the bartender some more, and then Malfoy was suddenly steering her away from the bar, her clutched in one of his grasps, two bottles of vintage whiskey in the other.

"Come on, let's get smashed somewhere more private."

...

Hermione wasn't one to get terribly ill when she was hung-over.

She would perhaps have a mild headache and be somewhat nauseous. She did however have terrible nerves, and would feel awfully depressed.

So when she woke and found herself in bed with a breakfast tray and Draco Malfoy, she almost wanted to throw herself out the window. Not again!

"Ah, you're awake." Malfoy pushed a bowl of ripe strawberries towards her.

She loved strawberries. Damn him.

They ate in silence, Hermione shielding her naked body with her sheets and Malfoy dressed in nothing but a pair of trousers.

She was nearly finished with her bowl when suddenly Malfoy perked up, as if remembering something.

"I almost forgot" he muttered, searching in his trouser pocket.

Curiosity overtook her as Malfoy drew a small box out of his pocket and then pushed it towards her.

She wordlessly took it and popped the lid open.

It was a ring.

It was beautiful.

"Are you asking me to marry you?" She asked numbly, instantly feeling silly as the idea was completely ludicrous.

When she looked up at him after he had kept silent for quite some time however, she was surprised to see him watching her expectantly.

"Are you ever wrong?" He asked, still looking vaguely expectant.

He thought she was going to say yes, she realised, he was sure of it.

That was the moment Hermione realised, as she plucked the ring from the box, that Malfoy had been right the night before.

She watched the ring as it fit perfectly on her finger.

He really did know her too well.

**Author's Note: Wow, it's ages since I've posted, and this is the longest (finished) story I have written. It's basically a dramione where all the pesky (non dramione scenes) are cut out, and I really just chucked the rules out the window and did whatever I felt like. I'm not pleased with this story. At all. I feel it's too basic, and I've written on it too much, so now I can't bring myself to read it over _again. _So it's staying like this, sort of crap. I'll take it as a writing exercise and I'm posting it so that people can point out what I did wrong, and then I won't do the same mistake next time. Meaning that constructive critisism is very welcome. **

**The title is sort of crap too, but a wall of Berlinian proportions suddenly rose as I was thinking of a title. The original one was just ridiculously inappropriate as the story came along.**

**I am still searching for a beta reader, someone that I can bounce ideas of and stuff, but obviously it won't be regular work. I really just need someone that can read over and possibly help me with some ideas now and then. If this sounds lucrative, please do not hesitate to contact me. I am going to try and promise that it won't be as long until next time. **


End file.
